Disclaimers for Dummies: People who use disclaimers usually want to indicate that the entity for which the disclaimer is used is not their property in any way. Concepts like AVP are such entities.
Identifying Morons for Dummies: You can safely assume that people who believe the author of this story owns the AVP franchise even after reading several disclaimers (one in every chapter) are morons, completely devoid of any but the most basic brain power that is required to sustain their useless carbon-based existence.
He ran through the dark pyramid, fleeing from horrors he never believed he would encounter. His pulse pounding and his head bursting with pain, he ran. In front of him was another form and it too, was running. He didn't feel threatened by this form. Indeed he believed it to be his ally. Occasionally the form would turn back and yell something, perhaps encouraging him, spurring him on. Or maybe it was annoyed that he was slowing it down. In any case he could not make out any distinct words but could feel the urgency in the voice. Vainly he tried to run faster to catch up with it, but as they ran through corridor after corridor he could feel the exertion resisting him. More than what he considered normal, for his very legs seemed to refuse to obey, their movements sluggish and jelly-like. Fearfully, he called after the form, asking it to stop, to help him but by now it was out of his sight and his voice sounded weak and insignificant. He heard roars and screeches behind him and drawing closer. He struggled to catch up with the form in front of him as he burst into a large chamber. He could see the form running up the stairs. Calling out again he sped after it. As he climbed the steps he felt his chest being constricted, his very air cut off. Still he ran up the stairs even as violent coughs tore out of his throat and caused him to stumble. But as he reached for his puffer, the demon was upon him.
Its metallic face gazed on him, emotionless and unimpressed. It shook him then dropped him and started after the form. Behind him more screeching could be heard coming louder now, nearer and far more frightening. He had to help the form he realized. Sweat was running down his face and his heart was beating so fast it seemed a miracle to him that it had not yet exploded from his chest. Though fright threatened to freeze him to the spot he reached for the Stick. He knew the Stick lit and light would fight off the demon. Using his puffer he blew the light to the demon.
The demon once again picked him up and with the light encompassing them both, he saw a visage straight from hell. Broad forehead and metallic dreadlocks, its eyes fiery red, its mouth no longer smooth metal but snarling, gnashing mandibles. He felt the demon reach inside him and tear his very soul from his body. And as he screamed and screamed he once again felt his voice was insignificant in the pyramid of screeches and howls of serpents and demons. The pain wracked his whole body as the claws ripped and tore and-
Raymond Weyland awoke with a scream inside his dark office. It took him several moments to convince himself that he was indeed safe inside his luxurious office with his scotch cabinet and large fireplace, with portraits of his predecessors and the Yutanis of the past looking sternly down on him. He must have fallen asleep and dreamt it all. It had certainly felt more real than any of his previous dreams. He looked on his desk at the stacks of papers Van Grey had given him, now an untidy mess across the large oak surface. Despite the anxiety Van Grey had produced about that third species in his office there was little mention of that in the document. Mostly in went on and on listing problems with the LV1201 facilities such as site location, network bugs and other technical problems, problems with the help. The list was far more extensive than what Weyland's experts had compiled. No doubt trying to make things look good for the boss and hopefully keep their jobs.
The section on the third species however small was detailed enough. As Van Grey had stated various official reports were included from the Army, the FBI and the LAPD. Other accounts from less prominent sources were also present. One image caught his eye and slowly he recovered it from the pile. He found himself looking at an artists rendering of the extraterrestrial based on the cop's description. Shivers ran up his spine that had nothing to do with temperature. The mandibles. The dreadlocks. The claws. The eyes with their intelligent but hellish gaze. Weyland felt his blood go cold as he stared at the creature that had murdered his ancestor and now invaded his dreams.
Arthur the assistant came promptly at 6 am as per his boss's instructions. Over the course of the trial he had watched his superior slowly deteriorate from a careless billionaire to nervous wreck as fewer and fewer options were left to him. He hadn't succumbed to alcoholism but would probably do so sooner or later. In a way he enjoyed seeing the higher ups fall from their glory and was almost amused at the shock when they realized that their vast sums of money were useless when enough people wanted to see them hang. But not being cruel or perverse, this satisfaction came only on a matter of principle, a theoretical detached point of view. On a more personal level he genuinely felt sorry for his employer and hoped something of his reputation and his life's work would survive.
He knocked politely and waited for the response before opening the heavy wood door leading to the office and stepping inside. He saw how Weyland took comfort in 20th century type of offices and he approved. The fireplace and the large portraits were his personal touches each demonstrating his wealth and legacy respectively. In sharp contrast to the grandness of the office, the owner was a wreck. Dark circles had formed around his eyes which had a haunted and troubled look. His dark hair, usually very neat was a wavy mess that just sat on the top of his head, the sides slick with sweat. His shirt was creased and looked like it had been worn for a week. Weyland's unshaven face just stared for a minute before breaking a weak smile. "Hello, Arthur. What time is it?"
"It's 6:03 sir. You told me to alert you when it was 6:00. I called your house but Mrs. Broker said you were not there. So I came here," Arthur replied.
"Ah so I did. Well thank you Arthur," Weyland said. He began gathering the mass of papers.
"Um, sir? I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you but have you been here the whole time? You look like you need more sleep," Arthur said.
"What..? Oh yes, I've been working. Trial or no trial I still have a company to run. Still that couch over there did its job so I wouldn't worry too much," Weyland said.
Turning slightly, Arthur could immediately see the couch had been unused. Once again he felt sorry for what his boss was going through and tried to help. "Mr. Weyland, your lawyers called and said they would like to meet with you before 1. I believe they said they'll be at the usual place on Canyon and Forsyte around 10."
"Thank you. That will be all Arthur. Have the limo here by 9:30. Oh and bring me a shirt. And some aftershave."
Arthur nodded and turned for the door. Billionaires, he thought. Even when faced with a crisis, they still acted like they owned everything. He was about to leave when he turned again. "Oh I almost forgot. There was another message for you, sir." He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Weyland. Weyland unfolded it and stared at it for several seconds while his face turned noticeably paler.
"Thank you Arthur," he managed to say before waving him off. Knowing not to press him at a time like this Arthur walked quickly out of the office.
Weyland looked at the message again and again as if it would disappear under his gaze. Written neatly in blocked letters, the message read:
Your defense lawyers have failed. Dismiss them and a more efficient counsel will present himself, one who can deal with our information. After your acquittal, I expect we'll meet within a couple of days to discuss the site plans.
Van Grey
The paper itself was simple enough, the kind of note paper a secretary might have lying around, the only distinguishing feature was the CRS logo stamped firmly center bottom. Weyland stared at that logo for the longest time, and then averted his eyes back to the writing. What was Van Grey up to? He was meeting his lawyers at ten. They must have something for him. How could Van Grey know what they had? Was it insufficient? Was this a bluff? Could he actually want to see him hang? His tired mind was going in circles, offering him a variety of answers, none of which seemed to be the right ones. He glanced back down at the messy stacks of papers the man had given him. He realized he knew nothing about Van Grey. He knew what he looked like, about 5'10 with jet-black hair kept in no particular style just groomed back, a thin mustache and anchor beard and piercing grey eyes. That told him nothing about the man who claimed to want to help him stay out of prison.
Weyland tried to bring back the memory of his first meeting with Van Grey at his office, to see if he could remember anything else about the man. He remembered the empty building that wasn't quite finished, with the security guard who eyed him as he walked in. He remembered the CRS floor, also incomplete with its marble floors and the monotone receptionist at the heavy metallic desk. He remembered Van Grey's office, empty as well save the desk chairs and the picture of the clown on the wall. No distinguishing features at all. No plaques no pictures of company events, nothing. Companies, he realized. Van Grey had given him a list of other corporations he had done business with. Some of those names he remembered, particularly the ones he knew, like MicroSyn, Umbrella and OCP (the bastards had hacked his computers a while ago, but he never knew what they were looking for). He decided to call MicroSyn first.
"MicroSyn, Mr. Gates' office," came a cheery voice over the phone.
"Yes, this is Raymond Weyland. Is he in?" Weyland asked.
"One moment please," The next thing Weyland heard was the soft lobby type music which meant he was on hold.
"Bob Gates here," he heard at last.
"Bob, it's me Raymond from Weyland-Yutani. I was wondering if you had a minute," Weyland said.
"Sure, sure. Hey I heard what happened to you. Terrible. I don't know what the courts are up to but you couldn't have known," Gates replied.
"Thanks. Listen did you ever do business with a man named Van Grey? Jason Van Grey?" Weyland asked.
"Oh yes. I remember him. CRS I think it was. Can't remember what it stood for worth a damn. But that man knows his stuff," Gates answered.
"What was it about if you don't mind me asking?" Weyland pressed.
"I was having some troubles with the company. Nothing major just little things here and there with the board, in lower management. He straightened it out for me. Come to think of it, he totally changed it around." Gates said thoughtfully.
"Yes but what did he do? What does he do?"
"He's approached you?" Gates asked
"Yes… yes he made me a proposition." Weyland fidgeted uncomfortably.
"Ah. You don't need to worry about a thing. He takes care of everything. You accepted of course?"
"Well, yes," Weyland replied.
"Excellent. Your whole life just took a turn for the better. Give him whatever he asks he's always fair about his fees. Trust me, from one entrepreneur to another, this man will straighten you out."
"But what does he do?" Weyland asked impatiently.
"No bullshit?" Gates said.
"No," Weyland replied.
"He's an enlightment. He'll take every aspect of your life and make it complete. He provides what is lacking."
"What if nothing is lacking?" A long pause followed.
"If that's what you think you're playing the wrong game." Gates answered mysteriously.
"Look just give me a straight answer," Weyland said irritated now.
"You want to know what this is? What it's all about?" Gates asked.
"It would be a big help," Weyland replied.
"John, chapter nine, verse twenty-six,"
"I, uh... haven't been to Sunday school in years..."
"'Whereas once I was blind, now I can see.' Look I'd love to chat but I got a meeting with the heads of the departments in 5 minutes and I gotta get ready. It was nice talking to you, Raymond. Goodbye and good luck." And with that Gates hung up. Weyland stood still for the longest time before replacing the receiver. His head reeling he called Umbrella, but none of their execs were available. OCP was the same. He put the phone down and slumped suddenly exhausted.
Gates was just about to leave his office for the meeting when the phone rang again. He picked up "Yes," he said somewhat impatiently.
"Did Weyland call?" the voice on the other end asked.
"Yes, he did," Gates replied all trace of his former annoyance gone. "He asked exactly what you said he would."
"And your answer,"
"Exactly what you told me to say."
"Excellent. Thank you. Good luck at your meeting," the voice said before Gates could reply. He paused for a moment then put down the phone and left the office.
"Sir your limousine has arrived," Arthur announced at promptly at 9:30. This time Weyland was glad for the interruption. He had tried calling some of the smaller companies but many of them were unavailable and those who he did manage to talk to provided no new information. They hadn't been as mysterious as Gates had been, simply saying they had no knowledge of CRS but their superiors might know. He had never managed to get a hold of these superiors and after a while he had just given up. He had tried to find clues online as well and the numerous search results gave him some hope. On closer inspection however most of them turned out to be useless and completely unrelated. He found sites for Conrad Renovation Service, Custom Room Storage, and a bookstore called Classics Renaissance Stories. After about the third or fourth page, the results didn't even include the acronym save for a porn site named Crazy Rippn Disappointed he turned off his computer and gathered his files. He changed into the fresh clothes Arthur had brought for him and shaved in his private office bathroom. He came out looking fresh and almost normal except for the tired, almost haunted look in his eyes.
The limousine pulled up to the Kensington Hotel ay 9:59. Raymond Weyland got out and walked towards the entrance, looking normal if not a little tired. The doorman opened the door at once and Weyland strode to the front desk. The concierge spotted him at once.
"Mr. Weyland, welcome. How can I be of service today?"
"I'm meeting some men in the dining room. They are supposed to arrive… well now," Weyland said, consulting his watch
"Yes sir they have already arrived. Table forty. This way sir," the concierge guided him through the lounge towards the dining room. Seeing his lawyers already seated, Weyland dismissed the concierge and walked over to join them. He shook hands and sat down.
"So what do you have for me?" Weyland asked
"Well sir, as of now we have no safety net. They're not cutting us any slack on this one. If the jury convicts you are potentially liable to the full extent of the law," the head lawyer said. Weyland had feared this and now it was confirmed.
"What about the information I sent you?" Weyland asked. The lawyers looked uncomfortable and one of them even excused himself.
"Mr. Weyland I'm not sure how to tell you this. But the information you sent us is trivial at best. I don't understand where you want to take this but in all my years as defense counsel I've never seen anyone pull something like this off."
Weyland just stared at him with a look that made the man even more uncomfortable. This look wasn't just that of a tired, desperate man. It was of a haunted desperate man, one who had seen death itself and can only wait for the moment bleakly. Hesitantly he continued.
"The evidence stage was concluded last Wednesday. Even if the judge allows it, we're not likely to get any support with this stuff. That jury wants to see you hang. They're not going to be put off with some fictional aliens or farfetched math theories," Seeing no change on Weyland's face, he decided to press one more point. "I took the liberty of checking out some of these sources. Personal accounts were easy to come across, although I had to call some favors for the Army stuff. I found no records of these "predators". Not in the Army, not in the FBI not in rival corporations. Mr. Weyland I don't know where you got this information but it doesn't exist in the database." No reaction. The lawyer decided the hell with it and finished his argument.
"Sir, I deem this course or action inadmissible in your best interests. I advise to plead guilty and I can try to reduce the sentence," the lawyer concluded. Weyland finally reacted. His eyes grew wide and his mouth tightened to a fine line. The anger on his face was evident. The haunted look was long gone and when he spoke he did so loudly enough to turn some heads.
"Guilty? I pay each of you a fortune that would make any honest man cringe and this is the best you could come up with! Plead guilty for Christ's sake! I could've gotten my fucking housekeeper to tell me that!"
"Mr. Weyland calm down please. If you consider…" another lawyer began. He had the disadvantage of looking young.
"Calm down! Calm down! You little shit I built my company up from nothing while you were still sucking your mother's tit! Now I stand to lose it all. I stuffed you pockets bigger than an elephant's turd pile and you tell me to plead guilty?" Weyland roared, not caring anymore how many heads turned. "Leeches! You're all a bunch of bloodsucking leeches! You're dismissed. Off the case! I don't want to see any of you dirtbags again!" and with that he stormed out of there, leaving the remaining lawyers in a state of shock.
Once outside, he had time to calm down a bit. He hadn't believed he had such a speech in him. He didn't think he could've taken it so badly. There must've been two dozen people in that restaurant. Most of them knew him, even if just from the television. Twenty-four people who knew Raymond Weyland had no plan and now had no lawyers. They knew he was going down. And they would talk, telling their friends and those people telling their friends. By 1:00 the whole damn city would know. He knew he was exaggerating but he couldn't help himself. He walked a little further from the exit and stopped to think. Then he remembered the note Van Grey had sent him. His lawyers had failed. But how could Van Grey know? How could he possibly know what the lawyers would do? Did he watch them? No there was no reason to. Did he somehow cause them to fail? No that was even more ridiculous. Coincidence and yet…
Before he was fully aware of it, he had already walked back to his limo. Once inside, he grabbed the phone and called his office. His assistant picked up on the third ring.
"Arthur. I want you to find the number for a company called CRS. Check my records. If not check the yellow pages. Give it to me as soon as possible," Weyland said and hung up after hearing the confirmation. The call came only a minute later.
"Sir here it is. It was right on your desk," Arthur said.
"Fine give it to me," Weyland replied. He heard the 7 digits and scribbled them on a notepad. Then he hung up and called the number.
"CRS, how may I help you," a female voice came over the phone.
"Yes, I'm Raymond Weyland. I'm looking for Mr. Van Grey please," Weyland said.
"Mr. Weyland? Please hold," the voice said and before he could reply her voice was gone, replaced by some radio song singing about the space blues. He clenched his fist but relaxed it slowly. He had no time for holding.
"Mr. Weyland? Still there?" the woman was back.
"Yes I am. Can I speak to Mr. Van Grey now?" Weyland asked impatiently.
"Just a moment sir. I'm afraid I have some bad news," the voice said.
"Bad news? What…" Weyland started but before he could finish the voice overrode him.
"We've finished processing your application. I'm afraid it was rejected. There were compatibility issues…"
"What? What application?" Weyland asked but the voice kept talking.
"… you shouldn't feel this reflects negatively on you. Have a nice day and thank you for choosing CRS," and with that, the voice hung up before Weyland could sputter another word. Furiously, he tried calling again but only got the busy signal. He slammed the phone down in anger and leaned back his head reeling.
What game was Van Grey playing? For no reason at all he thought back to the meeting. There had been a female receptionist. Your application was rejected. He had the woman say that when he had walked in. You shouldn't feel this reflects negatively on you. All cool, all monotone as if it was normal routine, Weyland thought in shock. It's a goddamn rehearsed speech. But why? What game was Van Grey playing? And why was he playing it with him? He would've been asking himself questions for a long time, but the limo suddenly jerked forward and pulled over.
"What's going on?" Weyland shouted at the driver.
"Engine problems sir. The damn thing just stalled," the driver called back.
Great. What other crap could happen to him? The driver got out and popped the hood. Weyland also got out and stood by, watching helplessly as the driver fiddled with the engine. Finally he looked up and shrugged apologetically.
"Transmission's shot. They'll have to tow it. Don't worry sir we'll have another limo for you right away."
Weyland made no reply just stared at the oncoming traffic. For a short time he just stood there, watching the oncoming traffic. Then he spotted another limousine, midnight blue slowing down. It came to a stop beside the other car and the tinted window slid down. If a man had leaned out with a gun and shot him, Weyland could not have been more surprised. In the limo, smiling the same hidden smile, was Jason Van Grey. "Can I help?"
The limousine had not even started picking up speed before Weyland began rapid-firing questions at Van Grey whose smile never wavered.
"What's going on here?" Weyland asked furiously. "I try to call you and your receptionist said I was rejected! Rejected for what?"
"I wouldn't worry about it. It's a rehearsed speech. She must've gotten the accounts mixed up," Van Grey replied
"Accounts? I have no accounts with you!" Weyland snapped.
"It was an honest mistake. I'll have a talk with her if that's what you like," Van Grey replied. "Tell me, how did your lawyers take to my information?"
"Take to it! They told me it was bullshit. They'd have me pleading guilty for Christ's sake!"
"Unfortunate. Nevertheless I was prepared for it." Van Grey said calmly. "Did you get my note?"
"Yeah I got your note? What are you trying to pull?" Weyland said.
"I pull nothing," Van Grey said and his calm finally seemed to be slipping. "I don't play games with my investments. I intend to let you go free. Then I intend to collect my pay. Simple business."
"But how did you know? And where did you get that information anyway?" Weyland asked now more shocked than angry.
"I have my sources. It's all easy to find. Some of the stuff you don't even need clearance for." Van Grey said. "Look, you're on the edge and you're overlooking things. Your lawyers are big names but this isn't what they do. They're good at bending the rules, but they're not in this one hundred percent."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean they've given up on you. They see the company sliding. Even without the charges Weyland-Yutani's stock was starting to plummet. They don't need you anymore because other companies are starting to make it big. The head of the firm just retired and his successor doesn't like you one bit."
"How do you know?" Weyland asked.
"It's my job to know now isn't it?" Van Grey said. "The politics of it are tangled and confusing but understand this: they want to see you hang."
"Well it doesn't matter now does it?" Weyland sat back defeated. "In two and a half hours they'll get their wish."
At this Van Grey just smiled his mysterious smile "Not if I have a say in the matter. Stick with me and you won't go wrong,"
They pulled up to a modest looking two story building about ten blocks from the Kensington and Raymond Weyland and Jason Van Grey got out. Van Grey beckoned Weyland to follow him and the two men went inside.
"What are we doing here?" Weyland asked studying his surroundings.
"We need another defense counsel don't we?" Van Grey replied amused and after exchanging a few words with the secretary at the desk, led Weyland to an office down the hall. The door was open and Weyland could see a man in his early forties, wearing a shirt and tie, sitting at the desk and eating a Big Mac. His hair was a dark brown and he looked like going easy on the Big Macs would do him a world of good. He got up and shook hands with the two men as they entered. Then beckoning them to sit, he introduced himself.
"Good morning, my name is James Cinq. Attorney at law, focusing on criminal charges and custody cases. Nice to meet you Mr. Weyland"
"Nice to meet you," Weyland echoed. "Kind of a strange combination isn't it?
"Hey what isn't these days," Cinq replied humorously. The man's portly face seemed pleasant enough but there was something about him, something he couldn't quite put a finger on. Something familiar and yet totally alien. Cinq didn't notice and began talking.
"So Jason's been telling me about your problems. Not hard to figure out really. You're all over the six' o'clock news!" Cinq said with a large grin and Weyland chuckled slightly. "But I think we can help you out. The evidence stage may be over but I know the judge. He'll want to hear this stuff."
"Really?" Weyland asked. "My previous counsel told me the information would be useless and the judge won't allow it."
"Well you must've had some dipshit counsel then. Pardon my French," Cinq took another bite of the Big Mac and skimmed through the now familiar sheets. "Yep this stuff would really come in handy. Gotta hand it to Jason really. I didn't think anyone would have the cunning or the balls to come up with something like this. Short of myself that is!" and laughed heartily.
Van Grey smiled "Yes I may have thought it up but I doubt anyone could argue it as well as you. The trial's in two hours. Will you be ready by then?"
Weyland wanted to intervene. They were already deciding and discussing strategies without his approval. But what could he do? His own resources had failed him. He had no choice but to trust this strange man with the mysterious smile. Stick with me and you won't go wrong.
The courtroom was full even before Weyland and his new lawyer walked in. Faces everywhere filled the seats with looks of satisfaction imprinted on them. They knew he was done for. Or so they believe, Weyland thought. His confidence had been boosted by Cinq who had explained his entire strategy to him while Van Grey had stood by and nodded. He saw a news crew setting up a camera in a corner. Then he reached the defendant seat and sat down, with Cinq on his left. The prosecution arrived a moment after and it wasn't long before the jury began filing in.
"All rise! The honorable judge Harry Eliot presiding," the bailiff called. The judge sat down and opened his file.
"Good afternoon. As you all know today is the conclusion of the case of State vs. R. Weyland and Weyland-Yutani. We'll have closing statements by the prosecution," Eliot said.
The head lawyer for the prosecution got up and began pacing talking about pretty much what he had talked about until then. Weyland had heard most of it and didn't bother listening to it again. The prosecutor finished and the defense was called. This was it. Cinq smiled reassuringly at him before rising.
"Your Honor I have in my hand several documents containing evidence that will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that outside circumstances were involved in the LV-1201 incident, circumstances over which my client had no control." And the room erupted in a mix of whisperings and gasps. The judge banged the gavel and called for order.
"You are the new counsel for Mr. Weyland?" he asked.
"Yes, Your Honor. I am," Cinq replied, his large eyes looking directly at the judge.
"The evidence stage was concluded last week counselor," the judge said.
"Yes Your Honor, but my client was not aware of the existence of these documents until a few days ago. I ask that the evidence be permitted."
"Objection! There is no provision for this!" the prosecution cried.
"Your Honor the evidence does nothing but support the case my client is already making." Cinq pressed.
The judge thought for a moment. "I'll allow this. Present your evidence counselor."
Cinq needed no second bidding. He moved quickly for a man of his bulk distributing copies of the papers to the jury, to the prosecution and to the court reporter for the record. Once this was done he started his case. Several times the prosecution objected, but Cinq maintained his line, and the judge allowed it. It was quite a sight, Weyland thought. The judge who up until this point had worked very much against him was now cooperating as easily as if he had paid him. Had Van Grey paid him? He looked over but Van Grey did not meet his gaze. Instead his attention was focused on Cinq who continued to lay down the evidence.
"… on page 16 you'll see an artist's rendering of the creatures…"
"…logs from Weyland-Yutani's own scientists at the Forward Observation Pods speaking of an intelligent third race…"
"… invisible creature stalked and murdered an entire elite infantry unit…"
Weyland lost track of it all but when Cinq sat down his grin was wider than ever. "We got'em! We got the fuckers!" he whispered and there was no mistaking his pleased tone.
The judge called for a recess and left the courtroom. Van Grey came up to them and asked. "How are we doing Jimmy?"
"Doing? We blew them out of the water!" Cinq replied. "Did you see the look on the prosecutor's face? He's got nothing to touch us now."
"Good," Van Grey said. "Very good."
The court was back in session at exactly 1:45. The judge shifted a few papers then turned his gaze on the jury. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"
"Yes, Your Honor, we have"
"Very well. Will the defendant please rise?"
Weyland and Cinq stood up. Although Cinq's expression was confident, Weyland still felt tense. What if he was wrong?
"We, the jury, find the accused, Raymond Weyland III, charged with the aforementioned offenses…"
Weyland's grip on the back of his chair tightened considerably.
"…not guilty," the juror finished.
The courtroom once again erupted this time in a mixture of cheers and boos. The judge had to bang his gavel even more fiercely and threaten to throw them all out of court if they didn't keep order.
"Very well. Mr. Weyland you are free to go. Court is dismissed," the judge said, and he rose and left the courtroom.
Weyland didn't even notice. He was too exhilarated, too busy shaking hands and accepting congratulations. Cinq slapped him on the back hard enough to hurt and Weyland shook his hand as well. His jubilation was cut short however as he spotted Van Grey striding towards him. Suddenly the series of events no longer seemed so grand. Van Grey smiled at him and this time it was downright chilling.
"I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now you and I have a great deal of things to discuss. A great deal."
Author's note: Yeah I know it's kinda boring, y'all want the action. It's coming. And sorry for taking so long to update. Thanks to those who stuck with it.
-CrutchCricket
